


the night after the morning we didn’t

by Anonymous



Category: Video Blogging RPF, soothouse
Genre: All other Soots as a Cameo, M/M, New Chapter of Life, Pining, Remembrance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-27 02:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20940602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Charlie changed everything - and Wilbur doesn’t know how to deal.





	the night after the morning we didn’t

Saturday morning, Wilbur stood in the check-in queue at Heathrow under a blinking sign that pinballed between flashing “New York” and “Check-In”, among the morning rush crowd at half past six, and regretted his life choices.

He hadn’t slept at all the previous night. He also hadn’t had any coffee. The dull throb of pain behind his ears was starting to turn sharper with every minute he waited to hand over his luggage. More than once, he considered just saying ‘fuck it’ and getting himself a coffee. But SootHouse had promised to see him off and while he wanted to be awake for it, he also didn’t want to be stuck in the fucking queue later. Which meant by the time he managed to make his way to the nearest coffee shop for something very hot, possibly watered down and hopefully caffeinated, the world had become too much to handle.

That happened sometimes, when he wasn’t careful or spent too much time around the wrong people. Both hands curled tightly around his cup, Wilbur fled to the nearest quiet corner to be alone with his thoughts.

When he sat down with his back to the wall, an unexpected jingle caught his attention. Something had fallen out of his pocket.

Frowning, Wilbur placed the cup on the floor and collected the item. It turned out to be a shimmering necklace made of tiny chain links, threaded once through a thin silver ring with the coordinates of their hometown and the date of his birth etched on the inside. He’d gotten it as a gift when he went overseas for the first time, so he wouldn’t forget where he came from, where he could come home to, or something equally kitschy.

He rubbed his thumb along the curve of the ring, considering the glinting material. It was more polished here, shiny from his touch, and something unsettling reared its head in Wilbur’s stomach.

He’d been trying not to think about it too hard; how flying to the US was worse than moving to London. London was barely two hours away from home. That was something he could do on the weekend, or maybe for an afternoon if he felt really homesick. America, though. That was a whole other kind of no-way-back.

It was a leave-your-old-life-behind kind of distance, which was exactly what Will was doing. Even if he wasn’t willing to admit it to himself.

Because he already knew a change of scenery wouldn’t _fix_ things. He’d known half a year ago, and three months ago; he’d known when he booked the ticket and packed his stuff and streamed his last livestream, all confident smiles and ‘I’m-fine-thank-you’s.

He pressed his index finger over the coordinates. They wouldn’t leave imprints on his skin. He knew because he’d done it often enough.

Running wouldn’t change anything, because nothing had been the same since his night with Charlie.

The thing was – and Wilbur had had a lot of time to think about this, in the past months; while practicing guitar or playing games or editing or laying awake in bed at night with nothing to distract him – that he’d never been happier than he’d been that night.

Sure, there’d been alcohol. There had been the tired giddiness of being up past three in the morning, although with his insomniac tendencies that was less of a novelty. There was the exhaustion of being pushed past his limits, coupled with the reckless euphoria of not caring in the slightest. His heart had kept beat with the bass and his skin had sung with sparks and fire where Charlie’s hand had touched his; where he’d laughed into Wilbur’s neck as they clumsily, drunkenly attempted to dance. Later, when they were walking back to Charlie’s place with their fingers entwined, Wilbur couldn’t remember ever having felt as violently alive.

Nor had he ever felt as shattered as he had after seeing Charlie’s distraught expression the next morning. His friend had been groping, desperately, for something to say.

The terrible feeling that he might have just lost something precious churned in Wilbur’s guts all the way home. He hadn’t. But things hadn’t been the same.

The next time he talked to Charlie had been on a SootHouse video, which the other had joined late and left early. The next time he _saw_ Charlie was at someone’s house party, for someone’s birthday, nearly a month later. He claimed he’d been busy, but the message couldn’t have been clearer.

Usually, Wilbur wasn’t the type to dawdle. He moved on from people he couldn’t have, or distracted himself until the feelings went away on their own. That way, he had control. That way, his feelings were the product of his choices. It was his life, after all, and he wasn’t going to waste a minute of it waiting for something that would never happen.

Yet, seeing Charlie again had completely floored him. He was stunned by how difficult it was to stop himself from reaching for him, from taking his hand as they retreated up the stairs with the rest of the SootHouse gang. In a flash of panic, Wilbur had refused a place on the bed and claimed the lonely beanbag chair.

That had been the first time he’d caught the way Charlie looked at him; the longing in his eyes. The glint of an inner turmoil Will wanted desperately to soothe. But he couldn’t be sure it was really Charlie he was seeing, or just a reflection of his own desires. He couldn’t be sure, so Will decided to keep his distance.

His hand clenched around the ring.

Staying away made his skin itch. Every time he was around Charlie, he burned on the inside. The sensation of every touch, however accidental, lingered for days. Everything he did was laced with thoughts of Charlie and every time they didn’t talk about what happened, forcing the ‘pretense’ to become the ‘truth,’ made it worse. But he couldn’t bring himself to end it.

Will looked down at the chain and thought, not for the first time, about how it would look around Charlie’s neck. The ring would rest in the dip between his collarbones, just high enough to be visible though the open top button of his shirt. Right where a purple hickey had bloomed the morning Will woke up next to him.

Someone called his name and Will flinched, blinking himself back to reality.

The Soots were coming; all of them plus one. Somehow, they’d managed to locate him in the crowded departure hall.

David was waving his phone at him and scowling. George looked like he was falling asleep on his feet. Matt had both hands in his pockets and Rhianna and her boyfriend were lagging behind. Charlie was in the middle, laughing at something Jack said, his whole face lighting up with amusement.

Will forgot to breathe for a moment. Words bubbled up in his throat, cutting off his air.

‘Come with me,’ he wanted to say. ‘Come with me. Don’t let me go. I don’t want to be without you. Tell me you want me to stay with you. Tell me you want to stay with me.’

He shoved the necklace into his pocket. The metal prickled against his fingers. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second to slip the persona back into place. When he looked up, he was neither a boy nor lovesick. He wasn’t running. He was Wilbur Soot, on his way to conquer the world.

When Charlie hugged him goodbye, surrounding him with a wash of scents so familiar it made him want to burrow inside of it and stay forever, Wilbur Soot could almost pretend it didn’t hurt.

**Author's Note:**

> fighting writer’s block.


End file.
